Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(49)
That night she dressed in jeans, heels, and a soft black sweater, and perched on the edge of the bed before they headed out for dinner. She waited for Michael to emerge from the shower, and when he did, her heart thundered. His hair was damp, and a white towel hung on his hips, revealing his flat, toned stomach and the trail of hair that led to her favorite place. God, she wanted him so badly, in ways that went beyond the physical.
“I feel guilty for enjoying this,” she blurted out, ripping off the Band-Aid.
He sat next to her on the bed, gesturing from him to her. “Us?”
She nodded and inhaled deeply. This was the hard part. The deep and dark truth. “Because it’s so good with you.”
His lips twitched and he looked down, then back up at her, schooling his expression. “The sex, you mean?”
She nodded. “That. Yes. It’s amazing. It’s better than anything I’ve ever had.”
He nodded, as if she’d said something as simple as “This salmon is delicious.” She hadn’t expected him to beat his chest at the compliment, or grin with masculine pride, but she was doubly glad for his tact. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t love him,” Michael said, as a droplet of water from his shower slid down his chest. “It just means we have good chemistry.”
She shook her head vigorously, strands of her hair slapping her cheek. “It’s not just chemistry, Michael. You know that. We have so much more than simple chemistry. We have history, and now we have the present too.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“That’s part of what scares me. The sex is amazing in and of itself, but it’s also incredible…” She slowed her words to run her fingers along the back of his neck and into the soft strands of his damp hair. “For other reasons.”
A small smile slipped across his lips. “I feel those reasons, too.”
“I don’t want to be sad about this,” she said, keeping her voice strong, as if announcing her intentions to move on would rid her of this hard stone inside her chest.
“There’s no shortcut. You just have to let yourself feel,” he said, leaning his head back against her hand and closing his eyes, almost as if he were demonstrating how to feel again.
How had he gotten to be so wise? Where was the carefree, easy guy she fell for decades ago? But of course, she knew the answer. He’d had to let go of who he was. He’d had to walk through all his own grief, too.
As her fingers toyed with his hair, she asked, “Is that what you did? For your father?”
“Yes. Most of all, once I stopped feeling so awful every day, I chose not to beat myself up for enjoying being alive. It gets to a point where you can’t miss a person every second. Or even every day. And you stop getting mad at yourself if you dare to laugh, or joke, or even just do something mundane, like have fun watching an episode of CSI.”
She latched onto that last one. “Are you saying we should watch TV?”
He laughed and opened his eyes, shaking his head. “Hell no. But I learned to just have a good time hanging out with family. Enjoy work. A good hard run. That’s the only way through everything. Keep on living—keep on feeling.”
“I want to be there. I want to feel.” But as soon as she spoke, she wondered if she was further along than she thought. Hadn’t she done all that? Let herself feel everything? She hadn’t shied away from grief. She’d faced it head on, experiencing every tear, every ounce of heartbreak, every moment of missing him. She’d gone all in when it came to remembering, and longing. Maybe it was time to do the same for moving on.
Go all in.
So when she went to dinner with him that night, she chose to relish every ounce of the happiness, to lose herself in the joy of being with this man she cared for so deeply. When they returned to his room for their last night together, she knew there was one more thing to do. One more way to give her whole heart to moving on.
“Take my picture,” she said. He scrunched up his brow as she handed him her camera. “I’m always the one behind the camera. I’m always the one with something in front of my eyes. I want to be the subject, and I want you to photograph me getting naked for you. That’s what I want to feel tonight. What it’s like to give myself to you.”
His eyes blazed darkly, shining with desire, and something else—something she’d wanted desperately when she was younger. Something that scared the hell out of her now. But maybe if she was on the other side of the camera, she could handle everything she saw in him, and let him see the parts of her no one else was privy to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
He wasn’t a photographer, but he didn’t need to be to know she was a breathtaking subject. Gorgeous, real, and heartbreaking. Written in her eyes was a mix of emotions—trepidation, courage, excitement, determination…. He tried to capture them all as she tugged her black sweater over her head, then unbuttoned her jeans.
She didn’t pose or mug for the camera. She simply did, and he simply shot.
She reached for the zipper of her jeans and worked it open.
“Mmm. It’s getting harder to concentrate,” he murmured as he snapped a shot of her undressing.
She laughed, and he caught that on film, too. “Harder. Ha ha,” she said with a flirty smile. That was captured for posterity, also—her playful side shining through. He caught every moment of her getting ready for him.